


Where friendship borders something more

by TheKats



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A lot of talking, Asexual Character, Asexual Sherlock, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Inexperienced Sherlock, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phraseology is important, Smut, Talking, arguments/fights, post-The Abominable Bride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-05-12 14:44:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5669740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKats/pseuds/TheKats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock's short exile, there is an episode of calm for the Consulting Detective. John, catching up, makes decisions to help the both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all: Yes, I can hear you scream "But if Sherlock's asexual, how can it be explicit?!"  
> Let me just say there is more to ace people than society in general knows. We will explore all of that with our dear detective. Otherwise, there is still John and we certainly know he's got an active libido ;)
> 
> Secondly: I have to give a huge thanks to crimson-winter on tumblr who wrote this great post that gave me the final inspirational push to writing the fic to an idea I always wanted to realise! Ace!Sherlock is actually my headcanon, but my past fantasies never allowed me to dive into it without proper experience.  
> The post can be found here: http://crimson-winter.tumblr.com/post/136576847114/the-impulses-scene-as-read-by-an-asexual  
> (It's long, but totally worth the read!)

“I wanted you to know that I'm not angry either.”  
  
John was sitting in front of a startled Sherlock, who, after fully coming back to reality, drew his eyebrows together in question.  
  
“I'm not even disappointed.”  
  
Sherlock tilted his head slightly. When had John even entered the flat?  
  
“Now, I'm not _happy_ , but I understand now. I think. And it has lead me to think about myself as well.”  
  
Sherlock didn't like the way John was saying these things. Slightly stiff in his posture, words carefully spoken. It was going to be one of _those_ conversations. “John, what are you doing.”  
  
“No,” John raised his index finger to shut him up, “no, I have not done this for nothing, Sherlock. This is incredibly difficult for me, you know that perfectly well, I have spent valuable time and effort trying to figure these things out and I'm not going to be stopped by your pretentious cold attitude.” something in John's voice made Sherlock quiet. Something always did. “I am sorry for what I said when you came back. I'm sorry for ever blaming you. I'm sorry for leaving you alone.”  
  
He was avoiding eye-contact. These conversations had never been easy for either of them. “You didn't. You were angry and you forgave me.”  
  
“But I had no right to be. I don't know _what_ happened in those two years, I just know that it couldn't have been a sunny holiday. You... changed.. So did I. In all my life, after war, after everything, I never felt so betrayed like when you stood there in front of me. And I know why. Because I have never trusted a person like I trusted you.” past tense, not good. “For some very strange, very horrible reason, I felt good about your solitary lifestyle. It made me feel powerful, strong, important. You had let me in. Me. No one else. Not like that. And when you.. you know, I lost that. Now, Mary gave me something similar, but never the same. I wasn't _happy_ until you came back. And yet I felt more alone then ever before because for no reason at all I thought you had wanted me out of your life again and knew I wouldn't just leave. That was paranoid bullshit. I need you and you need me, I think we are agreed on that and denying it would be a ridiculous attempt at independence. But going so far as to attempting to kill yourself? Are you mad?!”  
  
“Six months, I told you. I'd have been dead within six months either way.”  
  
“I assumed you'd come back then.”  
  
“That is what I wanted you to assume.”

 

“It made it easier. For you.”  
  
“Don't pretend.”

  
“There was hardly a chance to have made it any worse for me.”  
  
“Imagine me, I knew I was about to die.”  
  
“To never see me again.”  
  
“You seem incredibly confident with your theory, John.”  
  
“But you aren't telling me off.” John waited through the necessary pause. “I'm not completely stupid, not even to your expectations. And I've learned... And you're not alone in this.”

 

“So... Mary?”  
  
“I told myself I could forgive her because otherwise I would have had to admit the true order of importance to me, which, inevitably, would have meant proving myself wrong.”  
  
“But what about her? The baby?”  
  
“We'll come to an agreement.”  
  
“So, you are expecting my confirmation on this.”  
  
“No. That is entirely your decision to make now. I made you an offer – take it or leave it. I'm not going to keep up a pretence marriage under which everyone would suffer.. And I was hoping I could move back in here? Even if you're going to keep up _your_ pretence marriage, I would like to be a part of it again. Fully.”  
  
Sherlock regarded him for a moment, looking him up and down. “I would very much welcome back your constant presence at the flat. Everything else can be discussed another time. You'll excuse me.” He got up and walked down to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.  
  
John sat there for a moment and thought. It had gone rather well, he thought; not perfect, but better than imagined. With a sigh of what was to come, he stood and went to talk to his wife.

 

 

 

“I have been pondering your idea.” Sherlock said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence that had coated 221B the last two weeks. John, attention caught, abandoned his laptop in favour of sitting down opposite Sherlock in their chairs. “As you probably figured out as well long ago, I am willing to agree to go on a deeper level of intimacy in our relationship. However, I have one condition: Slowly.”  
  
John stared at him for a moment, waiting for the big deal Sherlock's posture promised to weigh on him. When the man said nothing more, John caught up. “Sure. What would the problem with that?”  
  
“I mean, I am not prone to the idea and act of sexual interaction.”  
  
John blinked. “I know.”  
  
“Maybe, one day, I will not promise it, but the possibility remains. If we do, though, we'll do it my pace, my way.” Strict and clear. No room for negotiations. John had to know what he was up for and Sherlock wasn't one who let himself be played with.  
  
John nodded at the obviousness, not quite getting why Sherlock was making this such a big deal as he was aware; had been aware for a long time. “Yeah. Alright.” he said in irritation. His next thought left him stumbling, feeling awkward to discuss such matters so early in their not-yet-relationship. Still, it was important to be clear on all terms to avoid unexpected conflict. “It's still okay for you though, if I... I mean, _I_ do have.. urges..”  
  
“My disinterest in sexual activities is by no means to influence your habits of masturbation, John. Just make sure there is nothing left in the shower when you're done.” Answered Sherlock reasuringly and with just a tiny bit of a sassy tone to it.

 

John erupted an embarrassed chuckle, before his eyes fell on his watch. “Oh, crap, I forgot I'm supposed to take the early shift today! I have to go, sorry.” he explained hastily, grabbing his coat and shoes and dashing out the door only to come back in a second later. “Anything for dinner?”  
  
“Chinese, I should think.” Sherlock replied, mind already a little absent again, as he had stuff to think about and John being out of the flat was the best condition under which to do so. Until he did something unexpected; something _new_.  
  
“Chinese it is.” John confirmed, zipping his jacked and walking over to plant a kiss on Sherlock's head. “Later!”

 

It was just a little peck. Nothing significant. But somehow it made Sherlock incredibly nervous. Not strictly because he didn't like to be touched, John was almost always an exception to that, but because it made him realise something: He had absolutely no idea what he was in for. John had experience, _tons_ of experience, in both relationships and any type of intimacy. Sherlock had over thirty years of distancing himself from such things.

What did couples do? Where there differences in how a relationship works according to who was committed to it? Or was it all the same cheesy activities and dialogues? If not, what did John like in a relationship? He was always romantic towards his girlfriends, yes, but what would he be like with Sherlock? Did he expect Sherlock to be romantic back at him? Had he even ever been in a relationship without sex? What if he missed it to much and started cheating on Sherlock or left him!

He would have to talk to John. Again.  
But the right setting would be needed in order to not make him feel too loaded with rules and cornered by arguments.

 

“I got your usual, hope that's okay- what is this?” John stopped as he entered the flat, irritated by a comfortably cushioned sofa, wine glasses, a bottle of red wine and the TV showing a still of a Doctor Who DVD cover.

 

“I arranged for us to have a nice evening with your favourite show and my favourite wine to celebrate our new status as... partners.” Sherlock answered, hands behind his back as he indicated the scenario with a sway of his head.

 

John tilted his head a little, frowning as he contemplated this. “Okay.. Fine, I guess.”

 

“Don't you want to?” Sherlock frowned, putting on his best mildy-pouty-face.  
  
“No, yes of course, I want to. I'm just.. surprised. You know you don't have to do this kind of stuff, right?”  
  
“I know. I wanted to.”  
  
“Well, then, cheers.” John finally dismissed, walking into the kitchen and putting their food on the table to get out of his shoes and jacket. The food loaded onto plates, John returned to the living room, where Sherlock was pouring them their glasses. Red wine and Chinese take-out; John smiled to himself. He raised his glass to Sherlock and they took their first sip together. As a couple.  
John wasn't an expert on the area, but that was some very good wine!  
  
Hours of sipping, eating and watching (and Sherlock pointing out mistakes and unnecessary dialogue) later, John turned to where Sherlock leaned back into the cushions, and pillows he had added, heavily, and gave him a small smile. “You didn't like it, then?”  
  
“No, I actually enjoyed it. A bit.”

 

John tilted his head. “But all this pointing out stuff, calling things stupid.”

 

“I tend to do that, don't I?” Sherlock said with a smirk.  
  
John chuckled. “Shut up!” he replied fondly, taking a second to rest his tired eyes. “Seriously, though, you don't need to do this stuff. Nothing has to change between us.”  
  
Sherlock frowned. John sounded so honest saying that, which made Sherlock understand even less. “B.. But then what's the point of-”  
  


“The point is, Sherlock, that I know. That _we_ know. We know we can trust each other to always be there when need be. To know, that we can trust each other with things that we wouldn't tell anyone else. To know, that warmth and intimacy are right here when we need them. That _home_ is constantly with us.”  
  
“I was about to say, John, I have thought a little more.. And I wanted to suggest to you that, if you ever felt the need to have sex with someone, I would be okay if you went out and got yourself a partner after talking about it to me. I would propose an 'open relationship' to you, so you could have sex with changing partners, just as long as you don't fall in love with them.”  
  
A long moment passed in which they looked at each other with mixed emotions. “Wow, er..” John broke the silence eventually. “That's awfully kind of you and I want to say 'no' immediately, but let us see where we go first, yeah? Just see how we develop, how we fit together and then we'll see if I need that sort of thing. I'm not generally fond of cheating, even in an open relationship. I might play the field a bit when I'm single, but when I'm committed, I'm loyal.”

 

“I know.” Sherlock said, and indeed he did. John had always been loyal until he felt Sherlock had betrayed him. Even then he had come back.

 

“Sex isn't everything, Sherlock. I mean, it's nice, yes, to me, to most people and having sex with someone you love is just an incredibly beautiful experience, but it's not what it's all about. Not for me, not for you. Sure, I'd like to try out some things with you one day, I won't pretend I'm not interested, but I can wait. And if I wait till I die, I won't regret having spent so much quality time with you.” John reached out, tucking a dark curl back. “Just tell me if something's okay or not. Initiate whatever you want yourself. I'm not a monster. I've had my time to play.”

 

Again, silence followed. Silent understanding. Sherlock didn't understand how he could have taken all his life to finally meet and be with the man that was John Watson. Finally, acceptance, understanding, respect. It made him feel a warmth that hadn't been there for decades.  
Unsure, he leaned forward bit by awkward bit, asking for, but feeling insecure to initiate a kiss. Luckily, John understood and slowly crossed the now very short distance between them, just laying his lips against Sherlock's finding how much he already knew and how far he should take it. Sherlock didn't move, just closed his eyes and John didn't push him, just kept steady against him, making tiny movements every now and then to show the potential of a simple kiss, but leaving it there for now. After a while, he drew back, waiting for Sherlock to process and open his eyes. When he did, John smiled kindly at him, caressing his cheek lightly. “I'm tired, I'll go to bed. Shall I put the rest of your food in the fridge?”

 

“Yes, please.” Sherlock simply answered, eyes following the smile that wasn't leaving John's lips.  
  
Maybe it was the wine, but both of them slept fantastically in their own beds that night.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is not tickety-boo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama, baby, drama!
> 
> I'm sorry it took me so long. I'm having weird periods these days, not all of them nice. I do hope you bear with me, though, and that this isn't getting ooc - I'm losing control of these stories lately.

A week into their new relationship, Sherlock has been rather open to explore the basics. Not that John would be surprised. But at least, he was flattered.  
They'd spent the following evenings together on the couch, watching telly, cuddled up, until they didn't look at the screen any more.   
Sherlock would mostly lay in John's arms, snuggling back against him. Not because John was the dominant party, but because it comforted him, made him feel safe and secure. In John's arms, he was free from accusations and prejudices. In John's arms, he felt at peace.   
Eventually, the blond would turn his head into him, close his eyes and just seep away into their own harmony. Sherlock would rest his head against the other's, listening to the warmth in his chest, pondering the strange appreciation for feeling nauseous like this.   
John's hand would caress his arm or his side and he would start nudging at the sensitive skin on Sherlock's neck. The younger man would tilt his head away to indicate his allowance of John peppering him with little kisses there. It was a funny feeling every time. Somewhat ticklish, very calming and weirdly hypnotic. And so very intimate. Sherlock couldn't think much when being with John like this. He liked it. It became their routine for both of them to tune down after another day of working/thinking.  
John wouldn't have thought Sherlock would agree to this kind of intimacy so quickly.  
Sherlock wouldn't have thought so either.   
But as it turned out, he learned a lot from it. For example that it's best to be relaxed and calm when participating in physical intimacy like kissing. John stimulating him that way lead to a nice bout of pecking and a calm mindset was more creative, more prone to let go and explore. And that Sherlock did.  
After engaging in the very basics of kissing, pressing their lips together and messaging each other lightly, Sherlock dove straight for the only other thing he knew, something he'd seen on TV many times. Fortunately, John had lead his tongue away from his tonsils and back into his own mouth, closing his with a fond smile and took it all the steps back down to where they were still exploring.  
Sherlock would have blushed had he understood the concept of embarrassment and not felt so safely embraced in John's presence.

  
They had even tried sharing a bed once already, but found that was too much for Sherlock as for now. A strange sense of urgency and stress had overcome him quickly, and he asked John to leave for his own room. John had calmly and kindly agreed, pecked his cheek and trotted back upstairs sleepily, not holding a grudge against Sherlock, which had been a great relief to the brunet. Anyone else, he was sure, would have accused him of making a fuss and not making an effort; which made him even more glad to have John and made him feel even less like he deserved his kindness and respect.  
For all the times he'd mocked, insulted and disappointed John, he was now rewarded with more acceptance, respect and understanding than he knew he could ever give back. What was John even gaining from this, except sexual frustration. He probably even thought Sherlock ungrateful as he never once had said 'thank you' for going at this slow pace. He was useless to John. A friendship that now bound him more than it is supposed to as a relationship of that status.   
He hadn't consciously believed them, but still subconsciously secluded himself until he was alone and able to blame everyone else, calling them simple-minded and stupid, not worth his time, while he was just fleeing the mockery and the shaming comments, the hurt these people had caused them.   
Nobody accepted him.  
  
“Hey, are you alright? Sherlock?” John asked, concern obvious in his voice and expression and it was too much; much more than he deserved. The tear escaped him before he could stop it and he quickly wiped it off his cheek, hoping John hadn't seen it. “Sherlock?”  
  
Sherlock stayed quiet for a little more until raising his eyes from the undefined spot on the table to John's large blue ones, shaped by the bow of his frown. “I just wanted to thank you.”  
  
“What for?”

 

“All of this.” he dismissed, not caring to go any deeper neither alone nor with John. Physical and psychological boundaries were still too completely different things.  
  
There was a silence in which Sherlock did his best to be unreadable, which was a tad difficult under John's concerned stare.

“What have they done to you..?” There was something in John's eyes that looked like disbelief and the shattered faith for humanity. Of course, as someone who's seen the worst of humanity himself, that was a valid expression to hold.  
  
Sherlock didn't answer, though, just bit in his toast and continued to analyse a sample of a potato he'd found at their last crime scene.  
After a while, his face lit up and he slowly backed away from his discovery. “Ooooh, that's it! _That's_ brilliant! I need to see Lestrade right away, will you be coming, John?” he was already beginning to dash about, a new wave of energy flooding his body.

 

“Ah, no, sorry. I've Mary come over in an hour or so to discuss a couple things. You tell me all about it when you come back, though.” John replied sympathetically.  
  
For a brief second, there was a tinge of disappointment in Sherlock's eyes, but, as always, it didn't hold on for long. “Alright. See you later.” he replied, leaning down to peck John's cheek while pulling his gloves on.   
  
John remained smiling and alone in the flat. Probably for the best as Mary was rather ill-disposed towards Sherlock at the moment. Really, John couldn't blame her, though he really thought he should be the one getting the beef.  
  
  
“Well, you've settled back in quite nicely.” Mary's familiar voice rang through the flat.   
  
John was just washing up the dishes and immediately displeased at her resentful tone. “Yes, well, I _have_ lived here for quite a while before.” he answered, drying his hands on a towel. “Tea? Coffee?”

  
“Just water, thanks.” she replied curtly, eyeing the flat around her. “So, how are you two getting along?”  
  
“Fine. Things haven't really changed all that much, to be honest.” John said calmly, pouring a glass of water for Mary.  
  
As he handed it to her, a spitefulness inside her surfaced. “Isn't that nice for you.”  
  
John stopped to look at her for a moment, wondering how he hadn't seen that in her before. “I thought we had discussed all this.”  
  
“That doesn't mean I like it.”  
  
“You know what he is to me. My god, Mary, you have seen it all, can you not understand it? Do we really need this drama?”  
  
“What do you think _I_ feel for _you?_ Do _you_ not understand? I love you.”  
  
“Maybe you shouldn't have lied to me then.”  
  
“As if he's never lied to you! What about his supposed death? Was that not a lie?!”  
  
“He did that to protect others. You lied to protect yourself.”  
  
“To protect _us_!” she corrected desperately. “John, you married me, that can't all have been for nothing.”  
  
“I did, but for the wrong reasons. I was angry, I married you out of anger towards Sherlock. I was desperately trying to run away from this. I already felt it then, that it was wrong, but I was too proud to stop it.”  
  
“So you didn't love me even then? Did you ever love me?”  
  
“I did. I do. Just not in the way that I do him. Never.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“You try to be normal where you're not. You try to make me normal. I thought that's what I wanted, especially after what happened, but it's not who I am. I may be crazy to like Sherlock Holmes, but at least I am myself that way.”  
  
“I can do that for you, you know I can.”  
  
John shook his head. “You really can't.”  
  
“So this is it, then?” Mary asked, her eyes wet. She was refusing to go all the way and cry now, though. She looked like she'd done that a lot recently.  
  
“This was it weeks ago, Mary.”  
  
“What about our child? It's not like there's nothing to link us!”  
  
“Have I said, with one word, that I would not care for our child?! Are you really accusing me of that?!”  
  
“I'm just trying to think of _her_! Do you want her to grow up with such a family setting?!”  
  
“If you have nothing but shit to give me, Mary, I suggest you leave and try to shift your centre of interest a little.”  
  
“I don't see you left alone and struggling with your emotions!”   
  
“For a pregnant woman you don't put a lot of effort into keeping calm.”  
  
There was a hot moment in which they stared at each other, interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and shutting. “Here comes the bride.” Mary spat unhappily.   
  
Sherlock was about to address John, already having forgotten Mary was to come around, but he recognised her perfume as he climbed the stairs. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, aware that she was cross with him most of all. He had no opinion on her, really, just facts. “Turns out the case wasn't half as interesting as Lestrade made it sound. He really needs to get a hold on his enthusiasm.” he informed off-handedly, taking off his coat and rounding Mary, to drop a kiss on John's head and diving straight for the kitchen to make himself some tea.  
  
The look Mary gave John said more than he cared, but he knew Sherlock hadn't actively antagonised her; he just didn't know better. And he liked routines like that.  
  
“There's a lot of children living in patchwork families these days, Mary, and while I could imagine nicer things for my child to grow up with, this is just how we'll have to take it. I'd rather she grows up with content, loving parents, than with unhappy, stressed-out ones.”  
  
“I won't be content.” Mary said I a way that screamed to raise pity. But John had been friends with Sherlock Holmes for years now, he wasn't manipulated that easily any more.  
  
“Jesus, Mary... Won't you even make an effort? This,” he gestured between the two of them, “is not going to work, the sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll be able to find yourself something new, better. She won't be missing a parent; she could have twice as many..” John tried to reason, staying calm and collected although he was getting pissed now internally.  
  
“No way Sherlock's going to raise a child.” Mary spat as if it was the most absurd thing she had ever heard. Much to Sherlock's displeasure.  
  
“Why-ever not?” Sherlock asked, stepping out of the kitchen, cup of tea in hand. His look was one of genuine irritation. And a bit of.. hurt?  
  
“Well, no offence, but you're not what one would consider a 'family person'.” Mary answered, crossing her arms over her baby bump.  
  
“I just entered a romantic relationship with John Watson, I think it's save to assume I'm good for one or two surprises.”  
  
“That really wasn't a surprise.” Mary replied, her face looking something like sad resignation.  
  
“Then why didn't you account for it? Why did you still marry him?”  
  
“Because I hoped it was a one-sided affair.” she admitted, looking sadly at John. “Obviously I was quite blind in that.”  
  
John's jaw clenched. “Sorry to be such a disappointment.” he commented. It was that tone of voice that should tell anyone to take a step back. It's not the loud, shout-y people one should be afraid of, but the calm, repressed ones. John was one of the latter.  
  
Mary nodded, unimpressed. “Sorry to have wasted your time.” she concluded, then left the room. It was no use trying to talk about this serious topic when everyone was just edgy about it. Another time.  
  
Her footsteps, balancing herself on the stairs, were still audible when John went into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea as well. Sherlock followed him, but not knowing what to do in this situation, he just stood awkwardly behind John. After a while, he decided to attempt to dissolve the tension by speaking out to “John-”, but the blond stopped him with a clipped “don't, Sherlock. Just.. say nothing.” and Sherlock, indeed, shut up.   
After readying his tea, letting it sit for a couple of minutes, he turned around, leaning against the counter top and looking at the kitchen table just because it blocked his view to the floor. His body was obviously already released of some of the tension, but he was still noticeably agitated. “Are _you_ angry at me?” he asked Sherlock after a moment.  
  
The brunet blinked, not understanding where that question came from. “Why would I be angry?”  
  
“Just answer me, please.”  
  
“No, I'm not!” Sherlock replied like it was a personal offence. He then took John's silence to let his eyes roam over the smaller man's body, analysing him for answers. He sighed when he understood. “John, I may be a narcissistic arsehole, but this is not a bad thing. You are doing nothing wrong.”  
  
“No, I just left my wife and child in hopes of one day shagging my best friend, nothing wrong with that at all.” John reprised in an exasperated sarcastic tone. Though he knew it shouldn't, the remark made Sherlock flinch with disappointment and a certain fear. John threw him a quick look, then shook his head in resignation. “No, no, Sherlock, I didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry, that was awful.”  
  
“Yes, it was.” Sherlock said honestly, fighting his emotions down. He knew John had a way with words. Just not a very good way. Especially when he was angry at himself. “I think you should take some time to calm down. We can discuss this situation if you want, but only if you are thinking reasonably.”  
  
John scoffed an unhappy laugh. “ _You_ want to talk about the future of my family with me? Since when are you doing therapy sessions?”  
  
“You forget that I am your family.” Sherlock replied and emptied his mug in the sink, setting it down after. “I'll be in my bedroom.” he simply said and left for said direction. John knew he meant that this was an invitation to knock whenever he was ready to either talk or to just drop the topic and he was grateful for it. He was grateful for Sherlock in general. No, he wasn't very good with handling emotions, neither his own nor anyone else's, but, like John, he was by no means incapable of being sensitive. He just saved that for the important people. John knew how much of a chore it could be to let someone in or to just open up to them, which made him only more thankful to have Sherlock do it for him. He felt privileged in a way that no other could make him feel and it meant the world to him.  
He did take some time to cool down, not wanting to put Sherlock under any more pressure than necessary. He'd already fuck up plenty with him today and wasn't keen on pushing his luck with a man who wasn't known for his patience.  
  
Meanwhile, Sherlock was sitting on his bed, thinking. Well, not really thinking, just sorting through a couple of things. John's evaluation had been a self-ironic statement, but it cut deep into old wounds with Sherlock. He needed to irreparably cut those links to avoid false accusations and guilt-trapping John in the future. His rules on 'playing fair' may have been set the pretty way, but he really didn't want to push John into leaving. John had proven that he was too important for that. Two years of torture for him were one thing, but the fact that he'd wanted desperately to go home and see John again had really made some switches click into position.   
Coming back to find John relatively happy with Mary and being serious about their relationship had been something of a slap in the face for him. In all the time Sherlock had spent growing more and more attached to John and taking memories of him to hold on to sanity, John himself had moved away and replaced him. Sherlock wanted him to be happy, but he felt betrayed nonetheless. It had been all the more surprising when John had approached him just as he had finally accepted that he wouldn't get what he really wanted. Maybe it had taken so long because it just wasn't 'meant to be'. With the trouble that was currently on, maybe it would have been best to not engage in this. They could still stop and go back, make it all right, but Sherlock had to admit that he was much too selfish to let John go again. He would make this work, whatever the cost. He was sick of always ending up alone.  
  
John startled him when he laid a hand on Sherlock's knee. He hadn't even heard him enter. Looking the blond man up and down, Sherlock knew John did want to talk. “Well?” he said expectantly.   
  
There was a brief moment in which John looked at him irritated, but as soon as it passed, John drew one leg up onto the bed, turning towards Sherlock more. “I'm, uh.. I'm sorry about-”  
  
“It's fine.” Sherlock interrupted. He wanted to spend as little thought to it as possible.  
  
John, however, was adamant about apologising. “No, it's not. I'm sorry I said that. It was incredibly insensitive and really unnecessary. I do hope you can forgive me that slip up.”  
  
“As I said, it's fine.” The brunet answered, trying to hide his annoyance.  
  
John merely sighed in mild relief. “Thank you.. Now, I don't know how far Mary will go with this and if she will manage to get a grip on herself some day, but I would like to know how much you actually meant what you said earlier. About raising a child- my child.”  
  
Sherlock frowned at that. “I wasn't lying, John. Just because I am horrible to adults does not mean I am horrible to children. On the contrary, I find it a lot easier to sympathise with them.”  
  
“Yeah, we're talking an actual baby here, Sherlock.”  
  
“I know. So what? Do you not trust me with a baby?”  
  
“Actually I'm surprised how easy I find it to trust you with mine..”  
  
“Oh, well thank you.” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes, smirk betraying his fake exasperation. He got serious again quickly, though. “Seriously, John, I would love to help.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“And if you want to get sole custody for the child, I need only tell Mycroft and-”  
  
“No. No, I'd rather we play fair in this.”  
  
“I thought it ceased to be fair when she lied to you about practically her whole life.”  
  
“Sherlock, please don't start this as well now. I need someone to stay sane in this for me.”  
  
“And you choose to rely on me?!” Sherlock said with an ironic grin that soon changed into a warmer smile when John chuckled.   
  
The smaller man fully climbed on the bed then, sitting up against the headboard next to Sherlock and leaning against him. “You're okay with this, right? The whole touching and kissing stuff?”  
  
“Wrong question, John. With that wording you are subconsciously giving me the impression that it would be normal and expected of me to be okay with it, making me feel guilty, unnatural and unsuitable for you if I wished to say no and thereby forcing me to say yes.” Sherlock corrected, keeping his look straight forward, trying his best not to sound scolding.  
  
John threw him an open and honest look at that. “ _Are_ you okay with it?”  
  
“Yes.” Sherlock replied with a nod and turned his head to face John. “I'd tell you if I wasn't.”  
  
“Would you really?”  
  
“Yes.” Sherlock answered and John gave him an inquiring look. “Probably.” he then said, turning away a little again. “I know it would be too much to ask every time you want to have any form of physical contact.”  
  
“It would still be the correct thing to do.” John reasoned, trying to clarify that it would be fine if Sherlock asked him to.  
  
“I don't do it every time I touch you, I wouldn't expect you to take on that hassle. Honestly, I mostly don't mind you touching me.”  
  
“Mostly?”  
  
Sherlock sighed, taking a second to think about how to phrase this without it sounding any kind of wrong. “I just sometimes don't feel much like being touched. It's not personal.”  
  
“No, I know it isn't, but that doesn't change the fact that you shouldn't feel obligated to just 'accept your fate', as they say.” John replied with a frown.  
  
Sherlock stayed quiet for a moment before shifting to cuddle up against John's side. The doctor threw his arms around the lean body fondly. “We are going to get through this, right?”  
  
“Of course we are. This is between Mary and me. It's nice to have you have my back, though, keeps me steady.” John nuzzled Sherlock's hair, smelling his mild shampoo.  
  
“Will you have a divorce?”  
  
“I think so.” It was a clear statement that sounded like it had been given a lot of thought. John sounded convinced of his decision.  
  
“You don't have to. Not for me.” Sherlock offered.   
  
“I want to commit to you, to this relationship. I don't feel like I would do you justice if I kept my word to Mary.”  
  
“Well, you have both sort of broken it already, haven't you?”  
  
“Twat.” John chuckled fondly.

 


End file.
